


An Intoxicating Man of Contrasts

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: The Iron Bull sweeps Josephine off her feet at the Winter Palace.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



> AceQueenKing, I liked the sound of your suggestion, "Bull is a surprisingly good dancer." :D

After Florianne is detained and Celene, Gaspard, and Briala have come to some sort of an arrangement, Josephine tries to relax. The main threat is over, but little threats still remain. Like the etiquette of the ball and the Inquisition’s reputation remaining intact. This is not helped by the Iron Bull dancing with whoever comes up to him. Whoever _throws_ themselves at him, more like. Women and men both cling to him while he holds them deftly and glides across the dance floor.

Josephine leans against the balustrade, looking down on the dancers below. She sighs. She isn’t surprised that he can dance, but that he can dance _so well._ For such a large, loud man, he dances with the grace and poise of the finest Antivan bailarín. Every step is calculated, every twist of his arms exquisite. He commands his partner the way Josephine imagines he commands the battlefield. The raw beauty of it all makes her heart--

No. She shouldn’t be thinking like this. Not about a mercenary, not even one as charming as the Iron Bull. Oh, but wouldn’t it be _wonderful_ … She allows her gaze to follow Bull as he swirls Comtesse Guilloux in a lazy figure eight. No doubt she will go away with a new appreciation for qunari. If anything good comes out of this evening, it will be new clients for the Chargers. Bull looks up, straight at Josephine. He winks one eyed but the jewels on his patch make the effect realistic instead of ridiculous. It takes her breath away and she swoons, ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you go and have a turn?”

Josie jumps at Leliana’s question. “My goodness, Leliana, you gave me a fright!”

Leliana laughs, bright and cheeky. “I scuffed my shoes so you would hear me but it seems you are smitten.”

“I am not!” And Maker, do not let Yvette hear such things.

Leliana’s smirk says she doesn’t believe Josie’s protestations so Josie straightens up, smooths her uniform, and marches away to prove to Leliana (and herself) that she isn’t _smitten._

He notices her immediately, of course, but waits for the song to end before gracefully handing off his partner to the next person. He bows, hand out.

“My lady,” he says with more warmth and sincerity than anyone else has shown her this evening.

Josie’s heart flutters and her hand flies to her mouth. What is she, a blushing schoolgirl? Nonetheless, she rests her hand in Bull's, delighted as he takes it in a gentle embrace, and leads her forward.

The orchestra kicks up a song with quite the tempo, faster than the usual waltzes that have played so far. She doesn’t recognise it or the steps but Bull leads and she follows the best she can. His hand is light on the small of her back, guiding, a mere suggestion. She has to remember to do the same to him, but the muscle shifts under his jacket, warm and tantalizing. Their palms press together, his hand so much larger than her own but he makes it fit like fate.

She has to look up at him, can’t help but look up at him, so engrossed is she. Leliana will be watching, most surely, Cullen and Vivienne too. She doesn’t bother worrying about what they might think, especially when Bull pulls her close, his scent intoxicating. She detects a smirk and realises she must have gasped. She is captivated, yes, but not enthralled. She narrows her eyebrows with devious intent and pulls back, adjusting her steps. To her delight, Bull follows, and now she leads him around the dance floor. He smiles, soft and private and it is a good thing she is already committed to her footwork or else she might stumble from that smoulder. She’s light, wonderfully light and giddy. And then Bull tugs her, propels her around and she spins on her toes in tight circles until she’s dizzy then he pulls her to him, right against his chest. His wonderful, broad, ample chest. Maker, what is she doing? Her hand, pressed to his heart while her own dances to its own beat.

His hand slides down her back, stopping just above the swell of her bottom and somehow she finds herself pulled even closer. He dips his head, cheek grazing her neck, breath soft on her skin.

“So tense.” His voice is honey in her ear. “If you ever need help relaxing, or want a more... _private_ dance…” He trails off, leaving Josephine bereft and desperate to know what Bull means. Though she knows exactly what he means, and she must admit to herself that she is curious. She has heard the rumours, after all.

Before she can reply--and with what she doesn’t know--Bull inserts a chaste space between them and twirls her once more as the song comes to an end. He dips her, her back arched but supported by his wide, strong hand, her neck tiled, bared. He leans down, too, smiling that dangerous smile, eye glinting. Maker, he knows the effect he’s having on her. Will he dare kiss her, here, in front of the nobility of Orlais and the Inquisition’s richest patrons? _Maker, yes please_.

He pulls her up instead and her head goes light from the speed. Again she is pressed close to his chest and she is on tiptoes. He dips his head, cheek then lips grazing her ear once more.

“Something to think about. You know where to find me.”

And he lets her go, his next partner in hand. She floats, dizzy and elated and more than a little conflicted. Could she take him up on his offer? Perhaps. Though the scandal such a dalliance would cause--

“He is discreet,” Leliana murmurs. Josephine jumps. “What? I know what you are thinking, Josie. You could do with letting your hair down and who better to do it with?”

“Have you--”

“No. But I know plenty who have.” Leliana smirks. “Don’t even ask, my dear ambassador. My lips are sealed.”

That information alone should set the cogs turning but Josephine can’t bring herself to interrogate Leliana, too enraptured is she of Bull’s offer. The more she thinks about it, the more inviting it sounds. She sighs. The Iron Bull. Dashing, chivalrous, dare she even say… handsome? Such an intoxicating man of contrasts.

A round of applause catches her attention. There, in the middle of the Winter Palace for all of Orlais to see, is Empress Celene herself caught within the Iron Bull’s tight embrace. Oh Maker, no! What a disaster! Josephine starts mentally noting down names of people she will have to apologise to on Bull’s behalf until she realises that Leliana is applauding too. Then Leliana lets out a wolf whistle and the crowd erupts with stamping feet and whoops and hoots and the Empress giggles, wrapping an arm around Bull’s waist to squeeze his rear. And with that, Josephine can’t help but join in. Well, that settles it then. If the Empress can have a bit of fun with the Iron Bull, why not Josephine?


End file.
